


Feet on the Ground

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: But realistic, F/M, Fluff, Love, Post-Episode: s07e25 Endgame (Star Trek: Voyager), Quilts, eventual schmaltz, grounding therapy, request fic, which means a few things need to get sorted out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: Something solid slams into Kathryn’s back. She stumbles forward, bumping Mark, who in turn careens into someone else. Kathryn turns to glare at the probably inebriated party-goer who didn’t watch where they were going.But, instead, she looks up to achingly familiar dark eyes and the curves and lines of a tattoo that Kathryn spent the last eighteen months telling herself she didn’t miss.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 130
Kudos: 121
Collections: 25 Days of Voyager (2020 Version)





	1. Nearly There, Kath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arcadia75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadia75/gifts).



> Content warning for note only: real-life fandom — I wrote this story before recent [Twitter acrimony](https://ds9vgrconfessions.tumblr.com/post/636359528059928576/icky-boy-is-icheb-actor-hes-a-real-creep-check) having to do with the actor who portrayed Chakotay. As I edited, certain ideas took on new resonance, such as willingness to admit to mistakes or to being unaware of information that, once learned, changed a person’s mind. These concepts should be reality, not fiction. As Maya Angelou said, and as I hope you, too, believe: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.”
> 
> ***
> 
>   
> This story is for arcadia75, who requested “realistic fluff of a no one is at fault C/7 breakup somehow J/C find their way back to each other post-Endgame” story. (Not my usual fare, but I hope I honored arcadia75’s faith that I could write it.) 

“You’ll like it, trust me.” Mark steps with Kathryn through the crowds, street lamps high overhead casting yellow angles in the foggy night. “I know your taste.”

“Yet you seem to have forgotten,” she’s jostled by revelers, “that among the things I dislike are —”

“Surprises.” He winces. “I know, I know. Trust me.”

She does. She does trust him. Through nearly eighteen months of counseling sessions and training for the admiralty and finding her footing on a world healing from the scars of the Dominion War, Mark has known exactly when to pop by with Mollie for a walk or to bring a coffeepot for Kathryn’s new house or to challenge her to a tennis match for old time’s sake. 

And he’s happy. Happier than she’s ever seen him, with Carla and a new baby and hard-won confidence that the woman he loves will never be roused in the middle of the night by an insistent commbadge and a demand she report to headquarters. 

It’s better this way.

But Kathryn still wants to know _where_ he’s taking her and _why_ it was so important to meet for dinner tonight and _how_ he even got reservations on Federation Day when restaurants are packed and people celebrate in the streets.

Her heel catches in a ventilation grate for the underground train, but Mark grabs by her elbow and she doesn’t fall. It’s balmy in Armstrong City, and Kathryn is glad Mark suggested she swap her uniform for a loose shirt and slacks. Weather on the Moon can be unpredictable, and even after a year and a half at home, she forgets about things like changing seasons or rain.

“Nearly there, Kath.” There’s a tightness to Mark’s usually easygoing grin, which means … worry?

He’s hiding something.

This time, Kathryn digs in both heels and it’s on purpose. Mark stops short. The crowd flows around them like fish parting for a rock in a stream.

“What’s going on?” Kathryn’s arms fold. “Tell me. Now.”

Mark’s eyes dart from face to face of revelers who gambol by. “We’re meeting some people, Kath. Old friends who care about you. Funny story, they were once a couple, too. But they haven’t been for more than a year and when I told him about Carla and the baby being on Rigel V for Federation Day, it seemed like as good a time as any to try to —”

Something solid slams into Kathryn’s back. She stumbles forward, bumping Mark, who in turn careens into someone else. Kathryn turns to glare at the probably inebriated party-goer who didn’t watch where they were going.

But, instead, she looks up to achingly familiar dark eyes and the curves and lines of a tattoo that Kathryn spent the last eighteen months telling herself she didn’t miss.

“Kathryn, I’m so sorry.” Chakotay’s hands move helplessly. “It’s so crowded and there was a … a …”

“A cascade.” Seven supplies and Kathryn's head swivels toward her. “One person bumped another who thereby collided with another and so on with increasing intensity.”

“Thank you, Seven.” The words slip out as if they’re on the ship again, as if Seven were delivering a report on spatial phenomena, not a party. “You look well.”

It’s true. The former Borg does look well. Something in Seven’s face is calm where there used to be tension. 

Chakotay, too. He, ah, he looks well.

Good.

Well.

Yes, he looks well … and good.

Kathryn’s cheeks warm. How many comm messages did she listen to and erase from both of these people, never watching the video because audio-only was difficult enough?

She knows Chakotay and Seven broke up.

She knows Seven is working with the Daystrom Institute on alternatives to warp for long-range vessels.

She knows Chakotay is teaching at Starfleet Academy, just like he talked about back in the Delta Quadrant.

Kathryn’s throat tightens. Her counselor said not to rush interpersonal relationships if she didn’t feel ready, and seeing Mark and her mother and sister is enough. Everyone from the ship needs to understand that she needs time to get back to herself, to the person she was before the stress and the fights and the forehead-splitting headaches that have ebbed in just the last few months. She’s kept track of her former crew, knows their postings or jobs outside of Starfleet, but socializing is another matter entirely.

“Not the re-introduction I’d hoped for, but it’s good to see you.” Chakotay’s smile is soft, shy. “Are you all right?”

Heart hammering, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine.”

Damn.

Chakotay, of all people, would know that “I’m fine” means she’s not fine at all. And she’s not. She wants to leave. She wants to stay. She wants to ask how he’s doing. She wants to not know how he’s doing because what if he’s happy and doesn’t miss her or what if he’s sad and misses her — and what, exactly should she do with either of those pieces of information or the many possibilities in between?

“We, ah, we do have reservations.” Mark! Oh God, she forgot about Mark.

Kathryn turns, trying to decide just how furious to be with Mark for springing all this on her, and his hand finds her elbow again. He sets them walking with Chakotay and Seven following. After a few steps, Mark leans in and whispers just loudly enough for Kathryn to hear.

“Remember, ‘love me, love my dog’? Well, ‘trust me, trust yourself’ and know you’re ready for this and needed a little push. I didn’t expect that push to be literal, but I’ve been talking with Chakotay for a few months now and I think you and he want the same thing.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Kathryn hisses.

“Another chance.”


	2. With You? Of Course

Dinner isn’t easy, but it isn’t awkward either. 

It’s … normal. Four friends chatting about work and hobbies, swapping stories and laughing.

“Perhaps on another occasion. However, on this particular stardate, the Velocity target ricocheted off the holodeck wall and …”

“God, it must have been fifteen years ago that Kath sent me a parcel with the words ‘do not open until I get back from my mission’ written across the top. So, naturally, I picked up the box and …”

“The holographic sailboat _was_ relaxing — until Kathryn and I found out that Tom Paris had programmed a seagull to fly by every sixty seconds with a new knock-knock joke, and …”

And it’s nice to share a meal with him again. Chakotay. Between bites of an entrée she barely tastes, Kathryn lets herself survey a broad chest and tan skin, a nose she once wanted to nuzzle her neck and eyes that once crinkled in the corners with a smile just for her. 

Then it’s over. Napkins are plucked from laps to crumple on the table and Mark holds open the restaurant door. The fog has lifted and they all step into the warm night. 

“We could walk to the transporter station as a group or I can figure out a way for you to have some private time with him. What do you want, Kath?” Mark’s voice is low in her ear. “Either way, you can kill me or thank me later.”

She doesn’t know how to say it, but Kathryn’s eyes lock on Mark’s. A streetlight catches his subtle nod.

A few steps later, Mark asks Seven if she wouldn’t mind telling him more about her engine experiments.

Mark’s pace slows with Seven staying with him and Chakotay wordlessly falling into step with Kathryn.

Soon the crowd is between them and it’s like Kathryn and Chakotay are just another couple, just two people out to celebrate Federation Day on a lovely lunar night. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his second apology of the evening more pensive than the first. “Maybe Mark and Seven and I shouldn’t have done this. He and I were chatting a few weeks ago about how good you are at thinking on your feet, but if you have too much time to worry, you will. And we thought —”

“I want to go to Lake Armstrong.” Kathryn’s arms cross. “I haven’t been since _Voyager_ got home and I would like to see it. Now seems like a good opportunity with everyone celebrating in the city. Do you want to come with me?”

“All right.”

She keeps her arms crossed — so much she wants to say and doesn’t want to say and it all needs to stay inside — and they backtrack toward the stairs for the underground train, striding past a grinning Mark and smiling Seven.

And it’s loud in the train, too loud to talk, Kathryn tells herself, but Chakotay’s back is ramrod straight, which means he’s nervous, so she uncrosses her arms and that seems to loosen his spine enough to help them both feel better. 

The crowd thins at each station until the train approaches the last stop — Lake Armstrong. 

Their footsteps echo on the stairwell to the surface.

And, away from the lights of the city, the night sky is brilliant. There’s no atmosphere on the Moon, just pressure domes around inhabited areas, so there’s a steadiness to the stars and ships in orbit, the oblong glow of McKinley Station, and the greens and blues of Earthrise — all reflected in the massive lake.

“It’s beautiful.” Chakotay’s head tilts upward. “Like being in an environmental suit without the helmet.”

He looks at her and his eyes crinkle the way they used to and it’s almost too much — the man and the planet she yearned for out there, together, here.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill out. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your comms and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you or for anyone else after we got home. I— I needed some time.”

Chakotay’s exhale is deep, lingering. “I think we all did.”

And the unspoken understanding rushes back, the knowledge that he doesn’t judge her for needing to knit herself back together on her own terms, for keeping her distance while regaining the equilibrium she lost during the years that wore her down.

“Do you?” There’s a knot in her stomach. “Do you want to sit by the lake and talk?”

“With you?” Chakotay’s smile is as bright as the starlight. “Of course.”

Her smile back is tight with nerves and jagged adrenaline and a mind racing to adjust to talking like this, no warp engine hum, no official responsibilities.

Adirondack chairs are scattered on the shore with two already angled together. Kathryn sits so Chakotay will be to her right. On the bridge of _Voyager_ , he was to her left, and this conversation needs to be different.

“Do you mind?” She motions toward her shoes. “I try to keep my feet on solid ground whenever I can.”

Chakotay’s head shakes and Kathryn removes her shoes and socks. Her toes burrow into the sand.

“Your counselor recommended Grounding Therapy?” Chakotay pulls off his own socks and shoes as Kathryn nods. “Mine did, too. I could probably be better about it.”

“I find …” Kathryn clears her throat. “I find the physics of how electrical charges from a planet or natural satellite can balance bio-electric signals in the human body to be quite compelling.”

Chakotay’s toes disappear into the sand, but he can’t hide his grin. “Your counselor convinced you to try a therapeutic technique by explaining the science behind it?”

A chortle escapes. To be accepted, yet teased, gently, sweetly, _truthfully_. It’s nice.

“Something like that.” Kathryn lets her head rest against the sloped back of the chair. Her gaze drifts to the water, stars and Earthrise reflected on the smooth surface. “What about you? Has the Starfleet counseling helped?”

“It helped me understand some things.” Chakotay’s chair creaks as he settles in. “I know now that I shouldn’t have pressured you about feeling alone out there. You had a right to express yourself and I shut you down, insisted you were wrong about an emotion. I wish I hadn’t done that.”

“You were trying to help.”

But Kathryn remembers the hurt that twisted her stomach when Chakotay told her she wasn’t alone even though every life on that ship depended on her decisions, her judgment. Anyone else could make a mistake and be corrected by a higher-ranking officer. Only she had to walk the tightrope of ultimate authority. 

Out there. 

Not here. 

She takes a deep breath.

“What I mean is I know that now. I know now that you were trying to offer moral support. At the time, it felt like you didn’t fully recognize the pressure I was under. I admit, though, the longer we were out there, the harder it became to see things clearly.”

“Agreed.” Chakotay sighs. “Things became … they became …”

“Amiss?”

“They became bad.” Chakotay’s hands grip his knees. “I got angry with you, Kathryn. You— you did things —”

“I shouldn’t have done what I did to Noah Lessing.” She swallows hard, letting the shame that her counselor said is a signal of a functioning moral compass flow through her body and out her toes into the sandy ground. “I was wrong.” 

“Yes you were. About that, and about other things, too.”

“So why?” Kathryn lets herself look at Chakotay’s face, angles and planes and curves she knows so well lit by Earthshine and stars. “Why have you been comming me? Why did you want to see me tonight?”

“Because,” Chakotay seems to study her as if trying to put together a puzzle of worn but precious pieces that may or may not still fit together, “when you’ve seen someone at their worst, not just once but repeatedly breaking principles she had set her life around — and you get counseling and it takes you a few months, but you realize what you saw wasn’t a woman bending with circumstances, it was a woman breaking under pressure. When you figure that out, and you know that woman is doing the hard work of staying in Starfleet, attending her counseling sessions, becoming better than the person she was because the person she was didn’t have to live with the decisions of the person she became … then the love you once had for that person comes rushing back and you want her to know.”

In the warm night, with the heavens above them and mirrored on the lake in front of them, Kathryn’s hand reaches for Chakotay’s and holds on tight. 


	3. It’s Getting Better

They sit like that for a long time, fingers laced, the gentle lapping of the lake and their own breathing the only sounds. 

“I want us to get to know each other,” Kathryn says softly.

Chakotay nods and she knows, she _knows_ , his counselor, like hers, emphasized the importance of mitigating lingering effects from the cognitive bias of the command structure in re-establishing personal connections from _Voyager_. 

“How about a sail on a real boat — no seagulls squawking knock-knock jokes?” Chakotay squeezes Kathryn’s hand. “Or a picnic in Golden Gate Park? Or we could play Velocity. Or there’s a Creole restaurant in New Orleans that I’ve heard is good.”

Kathryn’s laugh is more free than anything she would have allowed herself on the ship. “Sounds like you’ve considered a few possibilities.”

There’s a bashful grin, an agreement to a picnic — in Kathryn’s mother’s backyard, not a busy park — and a plan to meet at the Bloomington transporter station in a few days.

Kathryn goes home to the little house among the tall trees that help her feel safe, and she comms Mark. 

_ I won’t kill you — this time._

He comms right back, _But no thank you?_

_ Not yet. But maybe. _

On the afternoon of the picnic, the sky in Bloomington is perfectly blue, not even a wisp of a cloud. As Kathryn and Chakotay walk from the transporter station to the farmhouse, dust puffs around their shoes.

“Do you come home often?” Chakotay’s eyes shift from one cornfield to another of tall, leafy stalks stretching toward the sun.

“I did at first. We had that mandatory rest period after the briefings and hearings. Then I needed to decide where to live — and San Francisco was too much like being on duty all the time.” Kathryn doesn’t let herself reach for Chakotay’s hand again. “I ended up getting a place in Montana, not far from the Zefram Cochrane Historical Site. Something about the trees seemed right, like a good place to come home to after a long mission.”

Dark eyebrows rise. “You would go on another long mission?”

“Well not nearly so _distant_ as ours, but I’ve been off-world for a few missions. Two months, six weeks, that sort of thing. Why?”

A breeze rustles the cornstalks. 

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your travels, Kathryn.”

At the farmhouse, Kathryn unlatches a gate to the backyard. 

“My mother is with my sister for the weekend, but she said she would leave us some sandwiches. Do you want a tour inside or should I bring out the food?”

“I’d love to see where you grew up.” Chakotay motions toward the white, clapboard-style home. “If that’s all right.”

“It’s all right.”

They leave their shoes by the kitchen door, and Kathryn shows Chakotay the old-style oven and stove that Gretchen Janeway won’t allow her daughters to replace. In the living room, family photographs and Phoebe Janeway’s artwork line the walls. Chakotay is quiet as they walk through a dining room with portraits of grandparents and great-grandparents. A sewing room has quilts in various stages of completion.

“My mother is a whiz with a needle and thread,” Kathryn explains as Chakotay runs his fingers along batting and brightly colored fabrics.

“You never mentioned that.”

“It was hard to talk about her.” Kathryn picks up a round-tipped quilting needle from the floor and lays it on a flat workspace. “I knew she was either worried about me or mourning me, and neither was something I particularly wanted to dwell on.”

Chakotay looks away.

“What is it?” Kathryn’s eyebrows knit.

“Let’s talk over lunch.”

She skips showing him the bedrooms and they return to the kitchen. There are sandwiches in a food storage unit, and on the nearby countertop is a folded quilt and a note: “Enjoy lunch and I'll see you soon. Love, Mom.”

Chakotay squints at the looping script. “Your mother seems nice.”

Pride flushes Kathryn’s cheeks. “Thanks. I’m lucky to have her.”

“You’re lucky to have all of this.”

Chakotay carries the quilt and Kathryn follows with sandwiches. The kitchen door opens and closes and Kathryn wriggles her toes in the grass as she and Chakotay choose a spot to set up their picnic.

“I can’t go home.” The quilt billows from Chakotay’s hands and, arms wide, he lowers it to the ground. “The planet is there, of course, back in Federation territory. But the house where I grew up was destroyed by a Cardassian attack. All the family heirlooms are gone.”

Kathryn’s breath catches, but he continues.

“Despite that, I would like to see friends and family, visit a few sacred places. But every time I try to leave the Sol system, all I can see is the Caretaker’s displacement wave and I have to turn back or I’m sure I’ll end up seventy thousand light years away again.”

Chakotay sits cross-legged on the quilt. Kathryn sits in front of him, her stomach heavy with guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

His head shakes. “It’s getting better. At first, I couldn’t even leave Earth.”

She wants to ask if he resents her for not being there to try to help him, but the question seems self-serving when he’s the one in pain — and she needed time by herself.

She wants to ask if seeing her mother’s house gives him something he wants to be a part of — or if he’s decided any family home is too painful to want to be near.

She wants to ask if he’ll keep talking to her — even if their recoveries have been different.

But he answers all the questions she doesn’t say out loud by letting himself tip forward. Cornstalks sway in the breeze and Kathryn can feel Chakotay’s heartbeat against her own chest and despite everything, despite his pain and her pain and the challenges of the last eighteen months — hell, the challenges of the last seven years and eighteen months — they’re safe in the Alpha Quadrant and she knows they’re finding strength in each other’s arms and her eyelids flutter closed because this is what bliss must feel like.


	4. Just to Say ...

She doesn’t want the embrace to end. 

Chakotay must feel the same way because he murmurs into Kathryn’s ear, “This is good.”

Her chin rests on the slope of his shoulder. “It is.”

“I don’t just mean the hug.” His cheek brushes hers. “I wasn’t able to tell you these things before. It was difficult to talk about my feelings without wrapping them in a parable or speaking indirectly.”

This is something Kathryn had noticed, but didn’t know if Chakotay did with everyone or just with her. “Why was that?”

“Habit, I guess.” He sighs, a wistful sound. “We were comfortable on the ship, but then we were thrown together on New Earth, both of us torn from our friends, never mind any hope to get home. You were in mourning for our old lives, so when it came to our personal relationship, I got used to being careful, trying not to push too far, too fast.”

Kathryn remembers the shelter — Starfleet emergency housing Chakotay tried to make a home but how could it be? A plasma storm would have destroyed the structure sooner or later. That planet was a place to hide from disease, not a place to build a life. 

Earth is a place where they can build a life. 

“I’m glad we can talk to each other now, Chakotay.”

And she forces herself to make the words as true for herself as they have been for him. 

“After the briefings and hearings were over, there were days when I couldn’t even get out of bed. My mom, my sister, Mark — they took turns sitting with me, helping me remember what it could be like to talk to someone in the morning without worrying I’d have to order that same person to their death in the afternoon.”

Chakotay’s arms tighten around Kathryn.

“I guess,” she says, “I guess it had to be that way for me. A crash landing, but a safe one.”

There’s a nod against her cheek. 

“I had it easier at first. Seven needed me and that kept me busy. Harry and I would meet for lunch a few times a week and Mike Ayala commed me nearly every day to talk my ear off. It was B’Elanna who set me straight. She yelled at me that I was still trying to be a first officer, taking on everyone else’s problems and trying to fix them. Seven and I had a talk about that, and I think she and I will always be friends, but I had to do what you did, had to disengage from everyone for a little while so I could find myself again.”

Kathryn can’t help it. “And where do you find yourself now?”

Chakotay’s whisper is light in her ear. “Exactly where I want to be.”

The cornfields spin and she closes her eyes to stave off dizziness that should be pleasant — flushes of hope and luck and affirmation. 

But if they’re going to go down this path, _really_ go down this path, then this discussion isn’t over.

“I’m sorry. I need to put my feet on the ground, Chakotay. I want to keep talking, but I need to put my feet on the ground.” 

His arms fall away. 

She shivers, even in the warm afternoon, and scoots to the side of the quilt, trying to focus on anything but his hurt eyes. 

The soles of Kathryn’s feet touch the dirt, grass poking around her toes. Earth’s calming energy is like tendrils of smoke up her legs, through to her hips, loosening her ribcage so she can breathe properly. 

But her chest is heavy.

“In counseling, I learned that I can conflate personal and professional relationships.” Kathryn watches Chakotay for signs of surprise, but sees none. “My counselor helped me recognize that I expected things of you as a friend and first officer that were unfair. I now know that I shouldn’t have thrown your words about being by my side back at you when you were correct to voice your concerns about the Borg. I shouldn’t have maneuvered things so we discussed the command decision about the slipstream flight over a candlelit dinner. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things. You were fulfilling your responsibilities and I didn’t always handle it well when we disagreed. I— I apologize.”

High overhead, geese squawk as they fly by in a tight v-formation.

“I appreciate the apology. I’ve covered a lot of that in counseling, but it’s still nice to hear. Fortunately, I don’t anticipate us working together again.” Chakotay’s lips compress. “Do you know why Mark and I started talking?”

Kathryn’s head shakes. 

“He and I chatted at the welcome home party. When he mentioned that his wife, Carla, is also his boss, I wondered how they manage that. After a few months of counseling, I commed him, asked him to meet me for lunch. He wouldn’t tell me a word about how you were doing, but he did tell me how he and Carla had to talk a lot of things through when they started dating. He said it was complicated and messy and worth every minute because they both wanted something that would last.”

Kathryn’s heart leaps, but the tilt of Chakotay’s head is a warning. 

“Kathryn, I’m willing to do the work to unravel the past and plan a future, but when I talk about how I feel about you here and now, you change the subject or you don’t say a word. Why?”

Her toes grip the earth. “I … I …” 

“If I’ve misread things, then tell me. I’ll understand.”

“I …” It’s like zero-grav training, all nausea and heady anticipation and knowing what to do but the sensation of weightlessness making everything clumsy and slow. “I … give me a minute.”

He does, and slowly, slowly her breaths normalize.

“When I was a little girl, I thought a person was either in love or not in love — on or off, like a switch. Needless to say, I learned over the years that love can be nuanced and complex. But what I didn’t know until we were out there …” she forces herself to look at him, his forehead furrowed and his shoulders tight, “... what I didn’t know until we were out there is that love can be controlled. It can be compressed, forced into a tiny knot and lodged not in the mind or in the heart, but in the ribs — a sharp pain of possibility that needs to be ignored and worked around because it’s an impossible luxury that would compromise the command chain, endangering every member of the crew. And the crazy thing is, it works. Ignoring and working around love actually does kill it, dulls it into friendship and a working relationship.”

Chakotay looks away, but Kathryn continues.

“Now that we’re home, though, I’m learning something else. I’m learning how that knot of compressed love also can be like a seed — a seed that needs the energy of the earth to be able to blossom. But the seed doesn’t know that, so the seed thinks it’s dead even when it’s transplanted into soil where it can grow.”

There’s rustling as Chakotay shifts to sit next to her — on her right side — and his feet touch the dirt, too, his eyes intent on hers.

“What I’m trying to say,” everything blurs and Kathryn blinks rapidly, “what I’m trying to say is that after not allowing something for years, after forcing a feeling into a knot or holding onto a seed in an environment where that seed can’t grow, after all that gets better, it should be the easiest thing in the world to just say … just to say …”

He’s hoarse. “You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.”

And a laugh bubbles from her stomach — the inextricably twined truth and preposterousness of her trouble saying what she nearly said so many times — and the words finally tumble out.

“I love you.”

His lips are soft on hers, gentle. “I love you, too.”


	5. We Know What We Have

In some ways, the picnic in Bloomington never ends. The choice to reconnect flows into months of dates — walks through the Quayle Canals Arboretum on Mars, rounds of Velocity, trips to Earth landmarks all over the globe.

There are dinners with Kathryn’s mother, art tours with Kathryn’s sister, and visits to Mark and Carla’s home. When Mark catches Kathryn’s eye and tilts his head toward Chakotay, Kathryn can’t stop her lips from twitching into a grin. She mouths, “Thank you,” and Mark grins back.

The first time Kathryn and Chakotay meet Tom and B’Elanna for dinner, Kathryn’s chest tightens with expectations of accusations for her absence from their lives. Instead, there’s a fierce hug from B’Elanna and Tom’s insistence that Kathryn look at pictures of baby Miral. Soon after, Kathryn and Chakotay have Seven over for lunch, then Kathryn and Tuvok begin exchanging letters. When Harry has leave on Earth, Mrs. Kim has everyone over for a party, and by the time the festivities are over, Kathryn’s stomach muscles ache from laughing.

There are lazy mornings at Chakotay’s house in Tegucigalpa and late nights watching the stars from the backyard of Kathryn’s house in Montana, feet in the dirt, back and shoulder blades on one of Gretchen’s quilts, heads tipped together. 

There are missions that take Kathryn away and bring her home again. There is academy research and pedagogical planning that Chakotay participates in, then leads as superiors and colleagues recognize his passion for his work.

When Kathryn and Chakotay board a long-range transport ship, his hand holds hers so tightly that the tips of her fingers turn red. She talks him through his fears — “Nothing but calm space ahead. I’m here. We’ll be all right.” The ship lands and Chakotay’s chest puffs with pride as he points out the place where his mother would greet him on his trips home, the forest he explored as a child, the schoolhouse his father helped build. He introduces Kathryn to his sister, Sekaya. To give the siblings time alone, Kathryn visits an informational center with facts about tribal customs. A few days later, when the transport ship rises to take them back to Earth, Chakotay asks what Kathryn thought of his homeworld. 

“I think I love knowing where you came from, seeing your stars, and understanding how this place and these people helped shape the man you are.”

His hand squeezes hers and, this time, she knows it’s not out of fear. 

There are more nights spent together than apart and it becomes clear that there is no need for two houses. 

There is an argument, Kathryn preferring they choose a new place together and Chakotay insisting that his desire to move into the house in Montana is not a vestige of the old command structure. It has to do with better stargazing and a closer transporter station and a bedroom window that has a clear view of the sunset. Chakotay tells Kathryn how her backyard has something special about it, a safety and contentment that he hasn’t felt anywhere else.

A few weeks later, Chakotay unpacks his storage containers in Montana. 

It’s nearly a year since the picnic when Chakotay sips his tea at their kitchen table and says, “When we’re married, I thought —”

Coffee burns Kathryn’s throat. She chokes, a hand up to let Chakotay know she’ll be all right even as she coughs and gasps for air.

“I’m sorry,” she finally manages. “What did you say?”

Chakotay’s grip tightens on his teacup. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I … I just thought this was leading somewhere.”

“Leading somewhere?” Kathryn’s throat is still on fire. “To the altar? Is that really necessary?”

He blinks. 

Her stomach drops. 

“We know what we have.” Kathryn’s fingers press to her neck. “Why fuss with some sort of ceremony?”

“Fuss?” The word hangs in the air. 

Chakotay’s gaze falls to his tea.

Kathryn’s scalded throat tightens.

She tries to remember what it was like to want a wedding, to believe an engagement would lead to vows in front of friends and family … not separation and the loss of a love that once seemed so sure.

“I need some time to think,” she says to Chakotay. “All right?”

He doesn’t look up, but he nods. 

That afternoon, in her office at headquarters, Kathryn’s coffee mug lowers to her desk with a decisive _clack_ , and she comms her mother. 

It’s three weeks later, before dawn, when Kathryn crouches to wake Chakotay with a whisper in his ear. “Surprise.”

His smile is lazy, eyes still closed. “Surprise, what?”

“Open your eyes.”

She stands in front of him, barefoot in her dress uniform, a folded quilt in her hands. 

“What’s this?” Chakotay motions toward Kathryn’s attire and the cloth she holds. 

Kathryn lets the material billow, not so differently from the way Chakotay did at the picnic in Bloomington so long ago, and the large quilt drapes on their bed and the floor. 

“My mother spent the last three weeks making this. Each square on the quilt symbolizes something from our relationship.” Kathryn points as she talks. “There’s a square with sand and water for Lake Armstrong, and a leafy square for the Quayle Canals Arboretum, and a square with bright red lines and a disc for games of Velocity.”

Chakotay sits up. “I see a square with the woodgrain of the dining table at your mother’s house, and you must have told her about my sister’s house because I see it next to the trees from the forest from my childhood.”

There’s a nod. “I did.”

“I see a square with stars — for stargazing in our backyard?”

“That’s right.” Kathryn’s smile grows with the butterflies in her stomach. “And I was wondering if you wanted to put on your dress uniform and join me in the backyard — along with our families and friends who are waiting for us.”

Chakotay’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Kathryn begins to gather the quilt. “When I visited your tribe’s informational center, there was a display on lifecycle events, including wedding ceremonies. After you and I talked a few weeks ago, I looked up the customs when I got to work — just to refresh my memory. I thought about it, really thought about it, and the idea of a traditional blanket ceremony as a way to honor our feelings for each other … well, it just seemed right.”

Before Chakotay can say anything, there’s a knock at their bedroom door.

“Kath.” Mark’s voice flows in. “I don’t mean to bother you two, but the food is going fast and I’m not sure if Tuvok is promising or threatening a poetry reading to keep people entertained while we wait.”

“Mark?” Chakotay croaks out. “Mark helped you plan to surprise me with our wedding?”

“A lot of people helped me plan to surprise you.” Kathryn’s hand finds Chakotay’s forearm. “It didn’t seem right _not_ to include the person you once collaborated with to engineer quite a surprise for me. I always hated surprises until you gave me the best one of my life. It only seemed fair to try to return the favor.”

And it appears — the soft smile that reminds Kathryn how much her relationship with Chakotay has changed for the better. They’re equals now, with knowledge and understanding that lets each of them appreciate the other, quirks and all.

“We’ll be right there,” Chakotay calls to Mark, then Chakotay races to pull on his dress uniform and he grabs Kathryn’s hand and they run, barefoot, the quilt around their shoulders, to their backyard. The first lights of daybreak streak through the tall trees and Kathryn can feel the energy of the Earth through the soles of her feet and the love of their family and friends all around.

There’s a hush.

“You all managed to keep this secret,” Chakotay’s faux-stern tone can’t hide his joy. “I must say I’m impressed.”

There’s a roll of laughter through the rows of people. B’Elanna winks at Chakotay, Seven’s ocular implant shifts upward with her grin, and Harry fist-pumps in victory. Sekaya elbows Phoebe, whose huge smile matches Gretchen’s. Mark steps forward with a padd containing an official marriage license.

Chakotay affixes his electronic signature.

Kathryn’s hands shake as she takes the padd.

“I just want to say,” faces swim before her, the weight of the quilt on her shoulders and Chakotay’s hand in hers a promise of forever, “that I appreciate each and every one of you. You understood that it took me time to come back to you. And I’m grateful that the man by my side will always be by my side — because he wasn’t satisfied with the way we left things and I wasn’t satisfied with the way we left things, but he figured out how we could start to correct our course and I’m … I’m very fortunate that he did.”

She can’t see the padd, but Kathryn guesses where to affix her electronic signature and the device beeps to signify the contract is signed.

There is applause, which Chakotay raises a hand to silence.

“And I just want to say, that my _wife_ , Kathryn Janeway, has never been one to shy away from a challenge. I was frightened to try again, but I knew that if anyone would be willing to find a way through the uncharted territory of two people who wanted to be in love but needed to figure out a few things first, it would be her.” Chakotay’s lips find Kathryn’s. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And Chakotay can’t stop smiling and Kathryn can’t stop smiling and he breaks the kiss to murmur, “The only thing missing is the place where it all started — _Voyager_ ,” and she says, “Don’t be so sure,” because the squares of fabric that hang from their shoulders tell the story of their love since getting home, but stitched over the entire quilt is an outline of _Voyager_ , the ship where their love story began and could have ended, but instead they’re two people with their feet on the ground, their family and friends around them, and, overhead, the dawn of a new day.


End file.
